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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331330">In Over His Headboard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon'>ForASecondThereWedWon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [57]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(if you squint), Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bisexual Peter Parker, Blind Date, Dirty Talk, F/M, Meeting as Adults, Michelle Jones is an opportunist, Moving, Peter Parker is a thot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Strangers to Lovers, engaged!NettyPot, tfw your friend doesn't tell you that her fiancé's best man is Spider-Man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:13:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>MJ learns that Ned's best friend went through a lot of backpacks as a teenager.</p><p>And a lot of headboards as an adult.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [57]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1368034</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Peter Parker's Thotumn 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In Over His Headboard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's day one of Thotumn, organized by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs">spideysmjs</a>!</p><p>Today's prompt: <b>Dirty Talk</b></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>MJ is very observant.</p><p>But that’s old news.</p><p>The other O-word she lives her life by is ‘organized’. In kindergarten, she rearranged everyone’s cubby during naptime (without permission) to suit her precepts. As an adult, she keeps her books sorted by topic and, within that, by size. The handles of her measuring cups are perfectly aligned. The apartment that houses both the books and the measuring cups is tidy, full of furniture with secret built-in storage spaces, and fewer than five miles from the house in which she grew up. MJ has organized and reorganized her own space so many times that, even though her few good friends think it’s crazy, it explains why one of her passions is helping people move.</p><p>Packing boxes is a delight. Laying down rugs so that their straight edges are perfectly parallel to the walls thrills her. Helping someone determine exactly the correct lineup of toiletries in the cabinet under their bathroom sink is a religious experience. She doesn’t express her joy in smiles or shrieks of excitement, but in her diligence. She’ll be tucked quietly in the closet, ordering jeans by shade of blue, while the rest of the volunteer movers crack open a beer in the kitchen, calling it time for a well-earned break.</p><p>Lately, everyone in MJ’s life has gotten disappointingly settled: her brother and his wife upsizing in suburbia for the baby on the way, her parents (who are finally coming down hard on not letting her shift their knickknacks around anymore), and Betty. Betty’s engaged—<em>so</em> engaged—and simply made space for her fiancé to move in with her, so MJ didn’t get to assemble a single cardboard box. She still feels slightly betrayed.</p><p>When Betty calls and starts in about <em>schedules</em> and <em>plans</em> and <em>photographer</em>, MJ assumes they’re about to go over more wedding details. But no, her friend informs her, the schedule involves the timed renting of a moving truck and the access date for a storage unit, the plans are who’s lending a hand and with what, and the photographer is Ned’s friend and future best man, some guy named Peter. MJ forgets the name (and asks Betty for it again later—day-of, as they’re driving to the guy’s apartment building). It’s a dull speck on the metaphorical diamond Betty has just held up to the light for her to inspect—whatshisname needs people to help him move.</p><p>Before the pleasure of putting someone’s possessions in just the right spot can commence, there’s the grunt work. MJ understands and accepts this as a necessary evil. On the day of Ned’s friend’s move-in, she dresses in overalls—multiple pockets for micro-organization on the fly—with a cropped t-shirt underneath because there will, inevitably, be stairs and it’s July. She’s trying not to begin sweating too far in advance, limiting her anticipation to a foot jumping on the immaculate rubber foot mat of the passenger seat of Betty’s car and a series of probing questions.</p><p>“Doesn’t this guy have any friends?”</p><p>“He <em>has</em> friends,” Betty assures her, being a responsible driver and keeping her eyes on the road, “just not a lot of super close friends.”</p><p>“And the close friends he does have weren’t available?”</p><p>“Umm…” She concentrates on watching the pedestrian countdown light as they cross an intersection. “I think a bunch of them went with him to the storage unit to load up the truck. I guess they don’t have the whole day off.”</p><p>“Oh, unlike me, who has nothing better to do.”</p><p>“Don’t get snippy. And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have begged to help if you’d heard me mention what I was doing today.”</p><p>MJ plays with the seatbelt strapped across her chest, feeling defensive. It’s her go-to reaction whenever Betty reveals how clearly she sees her.</p><p>“I was just trying to figure out why I was asked.”</p><p>“Ned’s his friend, I’m Ned’s fiancée, and you’re my friend.”</p><p>“The six degrees of Michelle Jones,” she mumbles.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing. He lives in Queens?”</p><p>“Yeah, Peter’s local. He and Ned went to school together. Crazy, huh?”</p><p>“Crazy that you can travel the world and end up with a fiancé and a circle of friends from your hometown,” MJ agrees. Today, Betty’s in jean shorts and a beachy shirt that ties in a knot at the end of its row of iridescent buttons, but MJ mostly sees her on the news, looking as prim and expensive as a collectible doll. She’s a foreign correspondent for CNN, though she’s reining in the foreign part now that she’s living with Ned and about to get married.</p><p>“Crazy,” Betty repeats distractedly, making a perfect, tight turn into the belowground carpark next to the building bearing the address MJ wrote down two weeks ago. This is where the magic will happen.</p><p>The pile out and her friend beeps her fob to lock the car. She wants to take the elevator that’ll bring them up to the lobby, but MJ insists on trekking back up the ramp they drove down. It stretches her legs, a good warm up. As they emerge from the darkness of the lot and sun slices across their faces, she feels like she’s walking into Disney World. They stand on the sidewalk and right as she’s about to ask Betty when they guys are supposed to make an appearance, a U-Haul pulls up to the curb.</p><p>She sees the driver’s side door open and slam shut without seeing the driver, but Ned comes bounding down from the passenger’s side to hold his fiancée’s hands and give her a quick kiss on the forehead (they’re <em>so</em> engaged), then three more guys fold themselves out of the tight back of the cab and hustle around to the rear of the truck. The couple’s display of affection distracted MJ; she can only assume it’s the driver out of sight in the back, passing belongings down to his helpers, who swiftly stack them on the sidewalk near the front doors of the apartment building. There’s an array of boxes, then staggering steps as the guys navigate couches and mattresses out of the truck, racing against the inflexibility of the No Parking and No Idling signs on this street. If a bylaw stooge comes along, they’re screwed. New York’s street signs exist for the city to make money, not for the ease of citizens needing to unload their furniture.</p><p>The guy’s—Peter’s—friends are surprisingly quick, so MJ lets the speech she was mentally writing to argue in favour of his right to park the truck in front of the building he’s moving into dissolve in her head. Peter hops down from the back of the truck. From where she and Betty are standing, she can only see his legs and hear the clang of the rear door closing. The trio of extra helpers clamber back into the U-Haul with the intent and discipline of clowns into a clown car and wheel off to return the truck. MJ finally sees the man she’s come to help as he brushes his hands together and steps quickly onto the curb to avoid another car angling into the carpark. He shakes hair off his forehead and squints towards them, sun in his eyes, already smiling.</p><p>“Um, <em>hello</em>,” MJ hisses at Betty, quickly turning to her. “Were you going to mention that your fiancé is best friends with <em>Spider-Man</em>? That’s Peter fucking <em>Parker</em>.”</p><p>“And I’m Betty fucking Brant,” she counters breezily. She’s looking past MJ, waving at Peter. “I’m on the news more than he is and you don’t freak out when you see me.”</p><p>“I’m not freaking out.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>MJ spins to look into the eyes of a municipal—no, a <em>national</em>—no, an <em>international</em> hero. She doesn’t say anything fast enough, so he moves past her to hug Betty before coming back to her with eyebrows raised in what looks like a mixture of inquiry, politeness, and gratitude.</p><p>“Michelle?”</p><p>“But my friends call me—”</p><p>“MJ,” he finishes for her, and normally that would be irritating, but Peter Parker is endearingly boyish close-up. He’s shorter than she is. He’s freckled. He does look like somebody she could’ve gone to school with and had a low-key crush on for years and years. The fame can’t touch that, which is why, she figures, his hero-next-door schtick works so well for him. He’s local, like Betty said. Every bit of him sells that and it’s obvious that he’s not trying.</p><p>“And yours call you Spider-Man?”</p><p>Might as well get that out in the open—that she recognizes him. He laughs easily and glances down.</p><p>“Nah, pretty much just ‘Peter’. ‘Petey’ if they either really want to make me suffer or they really like me.”</p><p>He gives her a look and it’s brief, but there’s a lot to it. The propositioning tilt of the head, the wolfish curl of the smile, the assessing cut of his eyes to catch her from the corner of his vision. MJ gets a strong sense that ‘really like me’ is a euphemism for ‘enjoy me sexually.’</p><p>“We’ll see how I feel once we’ve moved all your shit upstairs, I guess,” she responds flatly.</p><p>“That sounds fair.” His voice is bright now, no lurking depravity. “I hope I don’t have enough boxes to make you hate me.”</p><p>“Please. Boxes are nothing. I’d be more worried about that dresser turning me against you. What is that thing made of?”</p><p>“Solid oak,” he brags, then grimaces. “It sucked just lifting it onto the truck.”</p><p>“Can’t you just…” MJ mimes the motion Spider-Man does when he shoots that gunk at people and buildings.</p><p>“Lift the furniture up to my building with web fluid?” Peter crosses his arms and looks like he’s really calculating it in his head. “Wouldn’t be graceful. I’d probably smash some windows if I tried to do it from outside, and doing it from inside wouldn’t be that much easier than just carrying it up the stairs. Also, that’d attract a lot of attention and everything I do doesn’t need to make the news, you know?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” she agrees dryly. “I hate it when I’m just grocery shopping and there’s a whole camera crew right in my face.”</p><p>He laughs at her sarcasm. Appealing.</p><p>“Right?”</p><p>And then they have to scurry to catch up because Ned and Betty have already started moving everything into the lobby.</p><p>After it’s all inside and not available to be swiped by anyone walking or driving down the street, they decide to take turns carrying stuff up to the fourth floor. (<em>Fourth</em>? MJ could swear she was told second.) One person stays with the remainder of Peter’s stuff while the other three lug boxes and chairs and, eventually, the dreaded oak dresser. She’s too focused on maintaining a brisk pace to really check out his apartment—beyond noting the large windows and protruding edge of the kitchen countertop (that catches her in the stomach while she’s squeezing around a box Ned left too close to the front door). It wouldn’t matter. Layout and organization haven’t been much on her mind since Peter Parker stepped out from behind that truck.</p><p>This process isn’t supposed to be a spectacle, but people notice Peter, and Peter, ever the neighbourhood Spider-Man, notices people.</p><p>A man exiting through the lobby nods towards Peter’s desk and starts a conversation about materials and quality. MJ almost trips up the stairs with a box in her arms as she hears him say, “Yeah, I’ve got more wood than I know what to do with.” Betty, on her way down, catches her eye and gives her a funny look.</p><p>“You’re sweating.”</p><p>“It’s hot,” she fires back.</p><p>Ned’s above, guiding one end of the couch, and Peter and MJ are heaving the other (mostly Peter) when a different dude narrowly gets past them on a landing, only to turn around and remark on the wonder of them being able to maneuver it. “It’s long,” Peter agrees, “but I’ve fit this thing into some pretty tight places.” Right after, he asks MJ if she needs a break. She’s fine. She only almost dropped her corner of the couch because her hand cramped.</p><p>As she’s taking a final box through the door of his apartment, she overhears, “I’ll let him choose the position. What do I know? I’m happy to put it anywhere. The only thing I can be trusted to be in charge of is making sure it’s well-hung.” Stumbling forward, she sees that Peter (who just spoke) and Betty are admiring a large, framed print of him and Ned in cap and gown, clutching diplomas. MJ grabs a bottle of water from the case they carried up here at the beginning—it’s lukewarm, but practically glacial compared to the temperature of her face right now—and asks her friend if she wants to step outside to get a little air before they continue.</p><p>Leaning against the wall of the building, MJ chugs some of her water, then hands it off to Betty. While her friend’s drinking, she says, “So, he’s gay, right?”</p><p>Betty catches the water that slops down onto her chin.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Peter. He’s gay.”</p><p>“I’ve seen him with guys when we’ve all gone to the bar together—”</p><p>MJ breathes deeply in relief. She needs him to be gay; the knowledge will quell how she feels when he utters these outrageous, completely explainable sentences, or when he walks ahead of her up the stairs and she’s forced to stare at his ass for four floors, or when she remembers that look he gave her before they started moving everything.</p><p>“—but Ned mentioned a serious girlfriend Peter had in high school, so I think he’s bi. Oh my god,” Betty adds in a tone of realization that scares the hell out of MJ. “You <em>want</em> him.”</p><p>It takes rapid backtracking and a convincing presentation of the facts (those being every suggestive thing Peter’s said today and leaving out the part about his ass) to wipe the excited look off her friend’s face.</p><p>“So, you’ve just been misunderstanding him. And eavesdropping.”</p><p>“Can we call it eavesdropping if he has nothing to hide?”</p><p>“Fine,” Betty says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not eavesdropping because he has nothing to hide. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Ned and, yeah, he might have an entire second identity, but the guy’s an open book. Peter couldn’t be sly if his life depended on it. He’s a goof, MJ. He’d never say that kind of stuff for real.”</p><p>Except that they hike back up to the apartment together and Peter’s voice drifts into the kitchen from one of the rooms down the hall, making the women halt and lock eyes.</p><p>“Remember how many backpacks May bought you in high school?” Ned chuckles. “This reminds me of that.”</p><p>“I do go through a lot of headboards. I’m not trying to break them, but I always put my legs into it too much and I just go so deep.”</p><p>“The room,” Betty babbles next to her, gripping her wrist. “I’m sure he’s talking about the depth of the room, coming in through the window too quickly from patrol.”</p><p>“It’s easy for you to tell yourself that,” MJ points out. “You’re engaged. You have no reason to think about Peter like that.”</p><p>Ned emerges and heads straight for Betty. These two are so gross together that neither of them protests against being hugged, though they’re sweaty from labour. With his arm around her friend’s waist, Ned turns to address MJ.</p><p>“Are you hanging around for a while?”</p><p>“Yeah, definitely. I can help unpack,” she pledges.</p><p>“Great. I know Peter’d like to get curtains put up for privacy today too, because, you know, being Spider-Man and having all these windows don’t really go well together, and you’re the tallest. He’ll probably want your help.”</p><p>She’d rather be assigned the task of choosing which kitchen cupboard will hold his plates, his glasses, the cans of premade soup she imagines Spider-Man relies on when he’s always darting around at night, too busy to devote a lot of time to making dinner. But she’s here to help. It’s not her apartment; she’ll go where she can be useful (any maybe do some sneaky rearranging later if he makes dumb organizational choices).</p><p>“Babe,” Ned says to Betty, “I’m going on a beer run—and maybe tacos, do you feel like tacos?—do you wanna come with me?”</p><p>“Of course, babe, but I don’t want…”</p><p>She looks at MJ, who’s trying to be inconspicuous, sorting the boxes labelled ‘KITCHEN’ from those labelled ‘LIVING ROOM’.</p><p>“One sec,” Betty tells her fiancé, walking over to MJ. “Will you be alright here if we go out for food?”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>Without glancing over, she plucks the X-Acto knife from her overall pocket and slices through packing tape to reveal nested pans, cloaked in mismatched dishtowels to prevent scraping during transport. The combination of careful and slapdash makes her smile to herself.</p><p>“It’s rush hour now, so I’m not sure how long we’ll be,” Betty warns.</p><p>“That’s fine.”</p><p>“I think we all need a little fuel before we settle in to unpack.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“MJ,” her friend says sharply.</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>“Are you ok being alone with Peter for a while?”</p><p>“Yes,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “He’s Ned’s best friend and he’s Spider-Man, not some random creep. I’m not afraid he’s going to jump me. Anyway, I have this.” She waggles the knife.</p><p>“I’m more worried about you jumping him.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes at Betty.</p><p>“Have a little respect for my self-control.”</p><p>Her friend just shrugs.</p><p>“I’d understand. There’s the allure of him being a superhero and, more importantly, the fact that Ned and I can both vouch for him being a genuinely great guy.”</p><p>MJ narrows her eyes even more, this time in suspicion.</p><p>“Is this a moving day or a blind date?”</p><p>“Oh <em>please</em>.”</p><p>“That’s not an answer. Betty,” she presses, but her friend turns and grabs Ned’s hand. The wave as they leave the apartment is mockingly innocent.</p><p>Alone, MJ darts a glance down the hall, where she knows Peter is still doing whatever in the bedroom. She’s not going to race in there like some glassy-eyed fangirl. Even if Betty does endorse him so warmly, and he does seem so down-to-earth, and his ass does look like <em>that</em> in his jeans. She lifts his cookware out, one piece at a time, then moves on to the tangled jumble of utensils in the next box, trying to separate a pair of tongs from a warped spatula. She doesn’t hear Peter walk into the kitchen.</p><p>“Hey,” he says suddenly from behind her.</p><p>MJ jumps and holds up the tongs threateningly, but her hand falls as she stares at him. He’s wiping sweat from his neck with the hem of his navy t-shirt. There are his abs and the taut skin below his navel.</p><p>“If you have a minute, could you give me a hand with this rod? I can’t get it up on my own.”</p><p>Her gaze springs up to his face and she stares at him.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The… curtain rod?” Peter says. “I can stand on a chair to do the one end, but I can’t do both ends at once. Do you think you could—”</p><p>“Yeah, sure.”</p><p>His smile is pleasant and relieved and MJ follows him into the bedroom like he hit her with some sort of magic spell, not just artless, unintentional dirty talk. She sets the tongs down on the floor by the wall; whoops.</p><p>“Warm in here,” she notes as she sidesteps a clear plastic tote of Peter’s clothes.</p><p>“Yeah, I was gonna open the window, but I didn’t know if the humidity would only make it worse.”</p><p>MJ watches as he gestures with one hand and props the other on his hip, hiking up his t-shirt to hook his thumb in the waist of his jeans. She encourages him to go ahead and risk it. The space is unbearable without at least the illusion of fresh air. She redoes her drooping ponytail, feeling new sweat slide down the nape of her neck as Peter crouches and jerks the window up from its sticky sill. Her gaze, and possibly her mind, gets lost somewhere in the breadth of his shoulders. His triceps look as hard and as perfectly rounded as the rolling pin that was still in the box when she left the kitchen. Emptying her chest pocket of odds and ends—knife, scissors, permanent marker, Allen key—MJ unbuckles her overalls, letting the straps and the bib hang down. The buttons on the hips keep the pants part up, but she can’t stand to have the whole thing closing her in any longer. She can’t <em>breathe</em>.</p><p>They each take an end of the curtain rod and Peter uses his knees to climb onto his nightstand, already positioned against the wall. It’s overkill because he’s not <em>that</em> much shorter and MJ can hook her end into the bracket without even having to get up on her toes. She’s done first and turns to look at Peter, kneeling on the nightstand with his thighs apart. She pictures joining him on that narrow surface, straddling his lap. <em>God</em>. How long have Betty and Ned been gone?</p><p>Then again, why fight it?</p><p>“Having some trouble getting it in?” she asks.</p><p>The rod clunks against the wall as Peter whips his head around to look slightly down at her.</p><p>“Your rod,” MJ clarifies. “You want me to take over? I can handle it.” At his continued dumbstruck silence, she goes on. “Or I can just direct you from here. You could try working it back and forth a little until you get the perfect angle. Then I’m sure it’ll ease right in.”</p><p>He hardly seems aware when the curtain rod falls into place. After a few extra moments of immobility, he dismounts and swishes the semi-sheer curtain across the window. She can feel his eyes on her, tracing the strip of stomach between the bottom of her crop-top and the folded-over denim of her overalls.</p><p>“What’s next?” she asks. “Maybe go into the bathroom and investigate the plumbing? Or, you know what, I didn’t finish unpacking your utensils. Would you rather go back to the kitchen and get your hands on my box?”</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>It sounds like his chest is tight, like he’s forcing the words out. MJ smiles gently at the real-life superhero into whose apartment she has miraculously been deposited for today and perhaps only today.</p><p>“Helping.”</p><p>“Did you have to call it <em>handling my rod</em>?”</p><p>“Did you have to tell me you <em>couldn’t get it up without me</em>?” she challenges.</p><p>Peter’s mouth falls open and he makes a choked sound of protest, but she raises her eyebrows at him, daring him to argue.</p><p>“You asked me for a hand with your rod,” MJ presses. “That was you. You started it. And it wasn’t even then, it was hours ago. What is there in this apartment that you haven’t made some sort of phallic reference to?!”</p><p>“I… did I? I’ve been doing that?”</p><p>“Don’t play dumb with me, Spidey. Own it or don’t, but don’t pretend you haven’t heard some of the shit you’ve said today.”</p><p>“Are you offended?” he asks, avoiding her eyes, but not her body; he takes his time staring at that.</p><p>“I might be if you don’t do anything about it,” she huffs. “I’d hate to think that Spider-Man’s all words and no action.”</p><p>“I’m off-duty.” A sly smile.</p><p>“We can just talk,” MJ says casually, thinking that she’ll possibly die of heat exhaustion and unresolved sexual tension if they stand around chatting. “Why don’t you tell me how Spider-Man’s managed to crack so many headboards?”</p><p>He shoots her the same kind of look he gave her on the sidewalk.</p><p>“It wasn’t always Spider-Man.”</p><p>She smirks and gives him a look of her own.</p><p>“Then why don’t you <em>show</em> me?”</p><p>It’s the honesty in his expression that she appreciates as Peter surges towards her, grabbing her face between both hands and kissing her urgently. She grips his waist and scrunches his t-shirt in her hands. At the first little pause they take to snatch a breath, she peels the shirt up and he yanks it off the rest of the way.</p><p>“Nice,” she breathes, stroking his torso with her gaze before adding her hands.</p><p>He gives her a jerky nod of acknowledgement and goes for her shirt. Tugging it off screws up her ponytail again, but she doesn’t have time to care; Peter’s kissing her, wet and demanding, while he reaches around and fumbles to unhook her bra. When he nudges his hips against her, she feels him. He’s been making sideways insinuations about his dick all day (whether he admits it to her or not), and here’s the real deal at last. MJ presses her tongue slickly into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering at the urge to open her eyes and see what kind of face he’s making to accompany the groan he lets out as she deepens the kiss. As he draws the straps of her unfastened bra down her arms, she regretfully takes her hands off his chest, swiftly unbuttoning her overalls. Left side buttons, then right. Peter hampers her by grabbing her ass and rolling his hips forward as she’s trying to get her pants down. She doesn’t discourage him. It’s thrilling that he’s handsy.</p><p>The room’s a mess—not dirty, thankfully, and she assumes he must’ve come on another day to vacuum and clean, but with a short, uneven stack of boxes in one corner, the container of clothing, the box spring and mattress leaning together against the wall, and the headboard, poking out of the closet because he hasn’t put his bedframe together yet. MJ hates disorganization, especially when it fucks with the logistics of what has all the promising tempo and quick chemistry of a fantastic hookup.</p><p>“We could just…” He huffs, lifting his mouth off her neck where he’s started licking and sucking. “…tip the mattress onto the floor?”</p><p>She’s taken aback by the idea of fucking Spider-Man on a mattress in the middle of his mess of a bedroom. With the curtain as the only thing to show they made any progress in this room before giving in to their libidos. But she’s in her underwear, overalls ringing her ankles, and the man beneath the famous mask looks hot as hell when he’s been kissed hard and riled into an expectant erection. How else are they going to pass the time before their friends return? Fanning out magazines on his coffee table?</p><p>“Let’s do that,” she agrees.</p><p>They work as a team to control its fall. The room’s carpeted, so the mattress doesn’t make much of a sound beyond a soft thump when it hits the floor. MJ frowns at it thoughtfully. “You don’t have sheets.”</p><p>“Fuck sheets,” Peter says, half declaration, half laugh, and walks across the mattress to get to her.</p><p>She smiles against his mouth because it’s funny that he’s momentarily taller, standing on the mattress while her feet are still on the floor. Good thing he’s already taken his shoes off. MJ pulls away and drops to unlace her own sneakers, very, very aware of the rasp of Peter unzipping his jeans right above her head. She steps out of her shoes and overalls, then frees her hair of the elastic, flinging it spontaneously across the room, tousling her hair in her hands to fight the tingling of her scalp as she straightens up.</p><p>Oh. He’s already stripped his boxers off.</p><p>If her mouth actually does fall open as dramatically as it feels like it just has, it’s fine. MJ forgives herself. You’re supposed to be embarrassed after meeting a celebrity, wincing over every rambling sentence you blurted at them and every awkward twitch in your high-strung body language. Only you will ever recall your spastic behaviour. The celebrity forgot you the moment you exited their line of sight. Wait, will Peter mark her down as a horny fan and forget her? She hasn’t known him long enough to separate the man from the heroic icon, but she hopes neither side of his identity involves treating a partner like that. But no. Doesn’t matter. She can overanalyze later. Peter takes her hands and guides her onto the mattress where they make out standing up for a few minutes—him hot and rigid against her stomach, her not quite naked—before things get so heated that they collapse with roaming hands (Peter) and trembling knees (MJ).</p><p>For such a wholesome figure, Spider-Man curses wildly as he slides her underwear off, nose skimming down her skin from between her breasts to below her bellybutton while he works.</p><p>“You… you look…” he pants, propping himself up on his hands just to admire her. She has to confess, to herself alone, that it’s flattering, that it’s already making her want more of this: reckless afternoon sex in her friend’s fiancé’s best man’s new apartment. “God, I’m so glad you—”</p><p>“Called your bluff?” she suggests wryly.</p><p>“And everything before that. I’m so glad you were standing on the sidewalk when I got out of that truck.”</p><p>Well. That’s a little earnest. Then again, the man is hovering over her in the nude, so they’re in the heat-of-the-moment realm, during which time, comments of disconcerting earnestness do not count, or can be retracted later with no fault to either party.</p><p>To counteract it, MJ teases, “Are you saying you’re glad I came?”</p><p>“I’m glad you didn’t immediately leave when I said that thing about my wood,” he confides, kissing swiftly back up to her chest and using nothing but his tongue to toy with her breasts. She gasps at the sudden pull of his teeth, then laughs.</p><p>“So you <em>were</em> saying that shit on purpose.”</p><p>“Don’t be mad that I was too intimidated by your hotness to flirt with you to your face.”</p><p>His tone is playfully giddy and she likes this guy, she really does. She gets a good grip on his soft brown curls and tows him up for more kissing. Her knees bump his bare hips as she forms a cradle for him to drop into. Hint, hint.</p><p>Luckily, Spider-Man knows his cue.</p><p>He rocks between her legs and her chest rises and falls like breathing is a massive exertion. His angle is <em>almost</em> just right, so MJ shuffles and shifts and he’s endlessly patient as she rubs against him from below, testing. Well, not endlessly patient. The <em>instant</em> she moans in satisfaction, he’s got a hand wrapped desperately around her hip as he grinds down with tenacity. Right. This isn’t just any hookup, any guy. This is the guy who makes a career out of not backing down. Heat flows through her at the sudden thought of being handled with the intensity of one of Spider-Man’s mission.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says as she feels the head of him slip lower, skipping across her entrance. “Condom.”</p><p>Intense, and kind of a lustful dumbass.</p><p>“Right,” he agrees, flushed when he raises his face from where he’s been breathing in the scent of her hair. “I have one, uh, in my wallet.”</p><p>And then he doesn’t break away from her for a good ten seconds, like he’s hoping she’ll let him slide in bare. Horny motherfucker. MJ wants to screw Spider-Man, not birth his crime-fighting offspring. She tucks her chin and gives him a look that promises, as much as it would pain her, this thing is shutting down here and now if he doesn’t wrap it up. With a resigned exhalation (and a little smile implying he knows what he was trying to get away with), Peter pushes off of her and goes to dig around in the pocket of his jeans. She rolls onto her stomach to study the ropy musculature of his thighs. When he extracts the condom with a triumphant burst of sound, she flips onto her back again and watches him trip over the jeans he just dropped. There’s a charming contrast between this unexpected klutziness and her assumption that he could pull anybody with a pulse using those trusting brown eyes and his Avengers status.</p><p>He crouches beside MJ and doesn’t take his eyes off her, flapping the condom between his fingers.</p><p>“Should I put this on or do you wanna put it on me?”</p><p>She presents her palm.</p><p>“Give me that. You can’t even be trusted to install a curtain rod.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m extremely ready to install a rod,” he says eagerly, watching her tear the condom open and reach for his waiting cock.</p><p>“You know, you’re a real dork for a guy with those commitments and that ass.”</p><p>“Thank you?”</p><p>Before his uncertainty can swell to self-congratulations, MJ rolls the condom roughly down his dick, making him heave and shake, hips bucking into her perfunctory hold. Smirking, she closes her fist and pumps him quickly, eyes on the blank bliss on his face, his slack jaw. After a brisk minute of this, he begs her to slow down, then, still kneeling at her side, cups between her legs and starts fondling her at an even more vigorous pace than she was using on him. Her breaths come in hiccups and she can’t point out how unfair this is. Just as she’s arching for more, thinking she’s about to come faster than she ever has in her life, Peter stops cold.</p><p>“Are you ready to—”</p><p>MJ glares and knocks him back onto his ass, then scrambles onto his lap, continuing to push him down until his shoulders touch the mattress. His expression is cheerily confused.</p><p>“I was this close,” she says, pinching her fingers together until they nearly touch. When her complaint brings an impish smile to Peter’s face, she pinches those fingers around his nipple, so he hisses and curls into himself. Shaking her head at him, she takes hold of his erection and eases down onto his lap. His ecstatic chant of, “Oh man, oh man, oh man,” is moderately distracting, but MJ persists. It’s just who she is: stoic.</p><p>“God,” he groans beneath her as she begins swaying forward and back, “this is almost as good as catching the midnight opening of a new <em>Star Wars</em>.”</p><p>She covers his mouth with her hand and he laughs behind it.</p><p>“I was just trying to lean into your perception of me. I’m <em>kidding</em>.”</p><p>“Are you though?”</p><p>But she frees him for the noises he makes. Some of these grunts and whimpers scale her spine like a ladder, raising goosebumps as they go, until the whole sensation comes shivering back down and she finds herself riding him harder.</p><p>“Firm mattress,” she huffs.</p><p>“’S new. The last one was awful on my back and—<em>ughhhhhhhohfuuuck</em>—with the hazards of my line of work, I figured I gotta start taking care of myself.”</p><p>“If you won’t, I will,” MJ mumbles, curving forward to lick his chest, charting it all under her tongue, as she continues to shove back against him.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” he says, short and sharp. He seizes her hips and rolls her beneath him. “You should know, you taking control is a big turn on for me.”</p><p>“Clearly.”</p><p>She’s not sure how much sarcasm comes across in her gasp because his manhandling has knocked the wind out of her. Actually, she’s happy to let him steer things; being on top was starting to remind her legs of every step she’s walked up and down in this apartment building today, carrying Peter’s shit. He kneads some of the tightness away when he grasps her thigh and digs in with a roll of his fingers. Her moan is as much in relief as arousal. Then he starts thrusting so fast and deep that he has to pull her back towards him every so often so she isn’t forced off the mattress. The hum leaving her mouth is somewhere between breathing and moaning, one note that drags on and on, jumping and breaking when he catches her mouth in sloppy, ravenous kisses.</p><p>He’s still doing his damnedest to make out with her when her lips part with a genuine shriek. The tickle of Peter’s tongue against the roof of her mouth somehow adds to the sensation, like a high vibration over the low thrum of him drilling in and out of her. MJ comes seconds into the beginning of her scream; Peter comes with a <em>crack</em>. The sheer <em>force</em> of her orgasm—Spider-Man is clearly not without finesse, he simply does not choose to employ it in favour of fucking like he’s a sportscar running a red on a highspeed chase—has her too stunned to figure out why the sound accompanying his was wrong.</p><p>“What was that?” she asks hazily as Peter slumps over her body, breathing hard and still gently thrusting. He’s sweaty, but so is she. With something like pride, she realizes he’ll have to go to sleep tonight with his mattress soaked in her scent.</p><p>“Leg slipped,” he says.</p><p>MJ does vaguely recall that. In the midst of her climax, he’d moved. It wasn’t enough to distract her, so she’d focused on the feeling, as well as the resolution to not let him get her that close to the edge a second time without going over it.</p><p>“And hit <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Uhhh…”</p><p>He doesn’t appear to know either, with his bleary, punch-drunk expression that’s unfortunately pretty adorable. No, no, no. A hand with moving, a hasty fuck, and she’s out. The whole day’s been extremely worth her while. She tells herself she doesn’t need more.</p><p>But Peter rolls off and she misses his weight and warmth, his shape and soft eyes. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress with his knees folded high when he goes, “<em>Shit</em>,” under his breath.</p><p>Because he also happens to be handling condom-removing at the time, MJ sits up fast, in a panic.</p><p>“Did it break?”</p><p>His posture inflates with a deep breath, then sags.</p><p>“Yeah. I don’t think there’s any way to salvage it.”</p><p><em>Salvage it</em>? That’s a weird fucking thing to say in the situation, like it could possibly matter whether or not they were able to repair the condom after he’s already come inside her. Still, MJ’s skeptic nature makes her grab Peter’s shoulder and wrench it back, only to see the tied-off condom dangling between his fingers. It looks intact. She grips his chin and turns him to look at her.</p><p>“What do you mean it’s broken? It’s not in tatters. It’s not <em>leaking</em>.”</p><p>“What?” He squints at her, then follows her gaze to the condom. “Oh, not the condom. My headboard.”</p><p>Sure enough, she looks up and there’s his headboard, still protruding from the closet, but now in two pieces. The closest is on a slow, sad slide to the floor. He must’ve kicked it. MJ laughs breathlessly.</p><p>“Oh, thank god.” Abruptly, she’s pissed. “I thought you were talking about the condom! You don’t scare a woman like that!”</p><p>“You thought the <em>condom</em> broke?”</p><p>“You had it in your hands and said ‘shit’ in this horrible way and I thought…” She sighs.</p><p>“We could’ve made it work,” Peter argues, making her nostrils flare as she puts her underwear back on. “Our baby would be super cute.”</p><p>“Our <em>baby</em>?! We met <em>hours</em> ago.”</p><p>“I’ve developed stronger bonds in less time,” he says with a shrug, leisurely getting up and sliding his boxers up his legs. Nice ass. <em>No</em>. “You’d be surprised how soon after meeting me some of the villains in this city get themselves so worked up that they wanna kill me.”</p><p>She yanks her t-shirt over her head with silent ire. Then has to take it off again because she forgot to put her bra on first.</p><p>“Quit looking like that. Nothing happened to you.” Peter’s mouth turns down as he glances over to the wreckage of his headboard. “I have to replace that. Again.”</p><p>MJ’s seriously about to snap at this idiot for his insane priorities when he straights up stiffly as he’s stepping into the legs of his jeans.</p><p>“They’re back.”</p><p>“Who? Betty.”</p><p>“And Ned,” he says, now moving faster, doing the fly, throwing his own t-shirt on.</p><p>“Inside out,” she says. Not to be helpful, just so that Peter doesn’t give away exactly what they’ve been doing with their time since their friends left.</p><p>She goes to swat him when he comes towards her, but then his fingers are buttoning one side of her overalls while she does the other. MJ’s just clicked the straps back into place when the front door opens and closes. Sourness fading, she gives Peter a grateful nod for his help.</p><p>“Wait,” she hisses. “Where’s the condom?”</p><p>On the instruction of some bizarre reflex, he grabs it from the floor and whips it clear across the room, sending it sailing out the window. Her jaw drops in horror.</p><p>“I can’t <em>believe</em> you just—"</p><p>“Guys?” Betty calls. “The Mexican place up the street was closed, so we just hit the liquor store for now. How’s the bedroom coming?”</p><p>MJ and Peter race to the door; she pulls it closed so fast that it smacks him in the ass, but then he gives her this stupid look like he liked it. And here’s Betty.</p><p>“You’re sweaty,” she notes. “Been working hard? You guys get the curtain up?”</p><p>“Yep,” MJ says honestly. “No problem.”</p><p>Her friend beams in satisfaction, but her expression shifts to conspiratorial as she links her arm through MJ’s and starts to guide her towards the kitchen, likely wanting to know if Peter said anything else colourful during her absence. Except that moron decides to pipe up from right behind them.</p><p>“And when we finished with the curtain, we moved on to the bed.”</p><p>“You did <em>what</em>?” Ned demands from the kitchen, then comes hurtling around the corner.</p><p>“No,” Peter gasps. He flings himself back to the bedroom door and blocks it, holding both hands out to keep his best friend back.</p><p>“MJ?” Betty questions with a growing grin.</p><p>She glances between the three of them for a moment and realizes there’s no way Peter’s keeping this secret. Time to go on the defensive.</p><p>“You brought me here,” MJ argues. “I can’t be blamed for my weakness for organizing—”</p><p>“Oh,” Betty shoots back. “For organizing and not for—”</p><p>“—apartments. All I—”</p><p>“—Peter, who you were so clearly attracted to from the instant you saw him?”</p><p>“—wanted to do was—”</p><p>“Me?” Peter says, taking a hopeful stab in answer to MJ’s explanation.</p><p>She glares at him.</p><p>“You flirted shamelessly with me all day—”</p><p>“You didn’t even <em>realize</em> I was flirting.”</p><p>“—so how am I supposed to help it if— Oh,” MJ says, catching the end of that comment, “and is that supposed to negate the effect it had?”</p><p>“I loved the effect it had. I have nothing to say against it.”</p><p>“How did you two go from shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other to an old married couple within the last half-hour?” Ned asks, jubilant.</p><p>“You’d have to ask my new neighbours,” Peter says calmly. “I think the scream they overheard is probably enough of an explanation.”</p><p>“That scream was on you,” MJ protests.</p><p>“And the noise complaint I’ll probably get is on you!”</p><p>“Sounds like you two should exchange numbers,” Betty suggests brightly. “In case you need to follow up for that noise complaint.” They both look at her. Then, MJ withdraws her phone from the back pocket of her overalls and pushes it into Peter’s hand.</p><p>“Fine,” she says.</p><p>He agrees with a shrug, eyes on the screen as he taps out his information.</p><p>“Come on, you crazy kids,” Ned coos, “let’s grab a beer while they’re still hot from the walk back.”</p><p>Betty giggles at this and twines her fingers through her fiancé’s.</p><p>In the kitchen, she pulls MJ aside right as MJ’s contemplating squeezing past Peter a second time on the pretext of getting ice. (The first time, she pressed her ass to his groin and felt him rub against her in response.) She didn’t even need the ice; she dumped it straight into the sink.</p><p>“So, how was that?” Betty asks, searching MJ’s face keenly for approval and recognition of a job well done.</p><p>“Perfect,” MJ has to grant her. “He did something incredibly irritating right before you guys got back, so I’m sure he found my annoyance entirely organic.”</p><p>“Method number sixty-three for getting a guy’s number still works like a charm. Though you know you could’ve just asked me for it.”</p><p>“Yeah, but messing with him was more fun.”</p><p>Her friend smiles against the lip of her bottle.</p><p>“Do you feel bad?”</p><p>“Nah. He’s been messing with <em>me</em> all day.”</p><p>“Hey, MJ,” Peter calls to her from where he and Ned have started emptying another box marked ‘KITCHEN’. “You wanna help me screw something to the wall later?” Smiling broadly, he waves a magnetic wall-mounted knife holder.</p><p>“Like that,” MJ stresses to Betty, then tosses her bottle cap so it bounces off Peter Parker’s stupid, smug, handsome face.</p>
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